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CDEW?IGHT DEPOSm 



MY THREE LOVES 



My Three Loves 



The Poems of 



BEVERLEY DANDRIDGE TUCKER 

BisJiop Coadjutor of Southern Virginia 




New York and Washingtok 

THE NEALE PUBLISHING COMPANY 

1910 



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Copyright, 1910, by 
THE NEALE PUBLISHING COMPANY 



First published in December of 1910 



CGI.A278764 



A. M. W. T. 

Amans, Amahilis, Amatce 

I WOULD HAVE MY CHILDKEN" PKOUD^, NOT BE- 
CAUSE THEIR FATHER^ AS A BOY, WORE 
THE GREY AND DID HIS LOWLY PART. NAY_, I 
WOULD HAVE THEM PROUD OE THE FACT THAT 
THEIR MOTHER^ WHILST YET A LITTLE 
MAIDEN"^ DAUGHTER OF A KNIGHTLY SOLDIER 
WHO RODE BY THE SIDE OF ROBERT LEE AND 
GAVE TO THE SOUTH AS A FREE LIBATION THE 
BLOOD HE SHARED WITH "THE FATHER OF 
HIS country/'' CHEERED THE TROOPERS WHO 
FOLLOWED THE PLUME OP ASHBY, AND WAVED 
HER LITTLE HAND TO GREET THE CANNON- 
EERS OF PELHAM^ AND STOOD AT THE GATE OF 
HER HOME AND GAVE FOOD AND DRINK TO THE 
FOOT CAVALRY OF ^'STONEWALL^^ JACKSON, AS 
THE TIDE OF BATTLE EBBED AND FLOWED 
THROUGH THE BEAUTIFUL VALLEY OF THE 
SHENANDOAH. 



CONTENTS 

m CAMP AND FIELD page 

Eobert E. Lee 13 

Hampton Eoads 14 

Gettysburg 15 

Appomattox 16 

Vincti Sed Victores 17 

The Days When We Followed Eobert Lee 30 

Compensation 23 

Again 26 

Deo Yindice 28 

Dedication of the Monument to the Con- 
federate Dead at Portsmouth, Va, . 33 
Unveiling of the Monument to the Con- 
federate Dead at Gloucester . . .35 

Father Eyan 37 

James Barron Hope 39 

John E. Thompson 40 

John Eandolph Tucker 45 

The Beloved Physician . . . . . . 51 

John Augustine Washington of Mount 

Vernon ......... 53 

"En Dat Virginia Quintmn" .... 53 

9 



CONTENTS 



IN" LOVERS GAEDEN page 

The Ehone and the Arve 61 

In the Land of Vand 68 

Only Two 73 

Ad Puerum 74 

On Dit 75. 

Epithalamium 77 

A Valentine 80 

Innominata . 81 

Close of Day 81 

IF THE SANCTUARY 

Bethlehem 85 

Consecration . . ' 86 

Missions 88 

"Lord, Increase Our Faith" .... 91 

Old Saint Paul's 93 

. Prayer for Old Saint Paul's .... 94 
The Living Christ . . . . .~ . .95 

Easter 98 

Easter Dawn 100 

Easter Hours 103 

The Light of Eastertide . . . . . 104 

Love Divine 105 



10 



IN CAMP AND FIELD 



IN CAMP AND FIELD 



Robert E. Lee 

Salutamus, Leader, long lost, 

And passed from our vision and ken, 

Tho' thine arms on thy bosom be crossed. 
We call us thy men. 

And we list for the word of command 
That leaped from the lips that are mute. 

Tho' it come not, yet loyal, we stand 
And give thee salute. 

Thou art passed. Commander, where ne^er 
Is heed of the praise and the blame. 

Yet resistless outrings the loud cheer 
At sound of thy name. 

Ah, the face and the form we knew well 
Are lost in the chasm of years ! 

But our love has a pow'r to dispel 
The mist of our tears. 

And thy glory shall lighten through time 
The vistas of duty, and then — 

We shall know that our hero sublime 
Still leadeth his men. 



13 



MY THREE LOVES 



Hampton Roads 

^Twas the calm of the day 

And the enemy lay, 
Unheeding, at anchor in Hampton Bay, 

When a flag was unfurled 

And a cannon shot hurled. 
Which echoed until it awoke the world. 

Ah ! they recked not the grave 

l^OT the threatening wave, — 
Their hearts were as dauntless, as strong and brave, 

As was Kelson's of old, — 

And intrepid and bold. 
They fought for the love of the truth, not gold. 

And the foe bowed before 

The new banner they bore 
Who sailed on to many an alien shore, 

But the sea sings to rest 

Now the bravest and best. 
As babes fall asleep on the mother's breast. 



14 



IN CAMP AND FIELD 



Gettysburg 

A hill's embattled crest 

Which Titans could not wrest, 
Altho' they charge with strange heroic zest; 

And all about them fall 

The showers of shell and ball. 
But still the Southern Cross it waves thro' all. 

Ah me ! Ah me, the slain ! 

Borne down, as beats the rain 
The roses 'mid the mire and 'mid the stain; 

Yet Pickett's glorious men 

They charge and charge, as when 
The waves assault the rocks, then break again. 

It was in vain ! — Ah, well ; 

The world will stop to tell ! — 
Lo ! here the spot where knightly Armistead fell ; 

And this the sacred field 

Where heroes would not yield, 
But fell like Spartans each on stainless shield. 



15 



MY THREE LOVES 



Appomattox 

On Appomattox field 

A worn-out remnant yield, 
A nation's fate is there forever sealed; 

A sacred flag is furled, 

A final shot is hurled, — 
It echoes still and saddens Freedom's world ! 

Did Sparta blush for shame 

At Thermopylae's name. 
Or bury midst her dead their Meed of fame? 

Did England ere forget 

The Norman foe was met, — 
If Harold's sun in cloud and shadow set ? 

The might at last prevailed. 

The Southern legion failed, — 
The glory dearly bought has never paled ! 

The years may swiftly flee, 

The proudest boast shall be, 
"We failed, — ^but failed with Jackson and with Lee." 



16 



IN CAMP AND FIELD 



Vincti sed Victores 

In Memory of the Men whose Cause is Dead but whose 
Deeds Live on 

From hearts of men, from off the country's face. 
Whose beauty once the stains of blood did mar, 

Long years of peace have laboured to efface 
The cruel tracks and vestisres of war. 



Each spring has brought its tender wealth of green. 
To hide the gory battlements of earth, 

'Till now the barren mounds — ^that once had been 
The place of death — to flow'rs and grass give birth. 

The dusty plains, once trampled by the feet 
Of angry hosts, whose battle-shout was heard 

Above the cannon's din, are fields of wheat. 
Or meadows, where we list the song of bird. 

On ships that sail the seas, in churches' aisles. 
In busy marts, in country, and in town. 

They meet and greet, with kindly words and smiles, 
Who once in battle faced, with warlike frown. 

To God be praise, for Passion yields her sway. 
And cloud no longer veils the sky above ; 

As storm to calm, and night to day give way, 
So war gives place to peace, and hate to love. 

17 



MY THREE LOVES 



Gone is the bitterness that once we knew, — 
If still the woe is traced in many eyes ; — 

Gone are the dreams of yore, and ended too 
The old heroic life of sacrifice. 

Gone, like a meteor thro' the cloudless skies. 

The hopes with which we sought the stubborn fray ; 

Gone, like the music when the singer dies, 
The fancies which beguiled us for a day. 

Gone, like a harvest swept by cruel hail. 

The hard won fruits of each victorious fight; . 

Aye, country, flag, and cause ! — gone, like a sail 
That dots the seas, then passes out of sight. 

Is this, then, all that's left, these many graves, 
Which, far and wide, are found in mount and plain, 

In valleys fair, and where the ocean waves 
Sing requiem, do these alone remain ? 

Nay, surely, nay ! — but like as Samson drew 
The honey from the lion he had slain. 

So, from our lion, war, we, comrades, too. 
May draw the strong and sweet, — ah, not in vain ! 

'Twas not in vain that these undying men 

With Lee and Jackson charged thro' storms of lead ; 

A page they wrote, with sword more strong than pen. 

Which long shall teach in duty's path to tread, 

18 



IN CAMP AND FIELD 



^Twas not in vain that these, in camp and field, 
And women brave as they, 'mid dark'ning skies. 

Endured and suffered, would not cringe, nor yield, 
But gave their all, and taught of sacrifice. 

More fair these fruits we gather from defeat 
Than some which grow on Vict'ry's highest tree, 

That duty's self, that sacrifice is sweet, — 
Ah, this to learn, is more than victory ! 

This much is left of all our fateful strife, — 

These names that shine in Honour's glorious sky. 

These dead to teach us how to live our life. 
Or show us how, if duty call, to die. 

And now, because they dying left this gift 
Of names untarnished and of mem'ries bright. 

Whose glory made in leaden skies a rift. 

And bathes fore'er our Southern land in light, — 

Because they gave us all they could, — we bring 
This tribute wrought of flow'rs, of verse, of tears. 

And vow to keep from dark Oblivion's wing 

Their names and deeds thro' all the changing years. 



19 



MY THREE LOVES 



The Days When We Followed Robert Lee 

Pickett-Buchanan Camp, January 19th 

By the old familiar light 

Of the camp-fire burning bright 

Let us gather here to-night, — 

Tell the tale, sing the well-remembered glee. 
Stir the embers fading fast, 
See the visions of the past. 
Hear again the bugle blast. 

As in days when we followed Eobert Lee, 

There is snow upon our hair. 
And the furrowed marks of care 
How they tell the wear and tear 

Of the years that have sped, — ^but let it be ! — 
We are boys, to-day, once more. 
And we're comrades, as of yore, 
When this flag we proudly bore 

In the days when we followed Robert Lee. 

"Eag of treason," men may call 
This old banner ; but, to all 
Who once loved it, 'tis the pall 

Of our dear Southern cause, and shall be. 
As a sacred lock we save. 
As a flower from Mother's grave, — 
Dear, as when we saw it wave, 

In the days when we followed Robert Lee. 



20 



IN CAMP AND FIELD 



For still our bosoms swell 
At the old Confederate yell, 
And we love to sit and tell 

Of the years when we struggled to be free,- 
Call US "rebels'^ — ^but the name 
It will bring no blush of shame, 
^Twas the synon3an of fame 

In the days when we followed Robert Lee ! 

There was laughter well as tears, 
And the old Confederate hears. 
Across the waste of years, 

Its echo like the echo of the sea ; 
And the old rheumatic pain 
Will be vexing him in vain. 
For it makes him young again. 

As in days when we followed Eobert Lee. 

For as oft we sit and gaze 

In the warm and cheerful blaze, — 

Ah, the tricks our fancy plays. 

The visions which our memories make us see !- 
Once again the armies tramp 
Thro' the snow and rain and damp, 
Then the pleasures of the camp. 

As in days when we followed Robert Lee. 

Ah, the stained old haversack 
With the bacon and hardtack 
And that whiff of apple jack. 

And the coffee made of rye ! — they may be 
21 



MY THREE LOVES 



Not a dainty bill of fare, — 
But it must have been the air, 
For they tasted mighty fair 
In the days when we followed Eobert Lee. 

As the mem'ry dreams and whirls 
How it brings up all the girls. 
With the dancing eye and curls. 

And the laughter like the ripple of the sea ! 
0, the tender, sweet farewell 
And the kiss remembered well, — 
But ^t would never do to tell 

How we loved when we followed Eobert Lee ! 

And the trumpet sounds once more 
As we fight our battles o'er, — 
Midst the rattle and the roar 

How we charged in our struggles to be free ! 
Ah, it was a glorious sight. 
For we struck with all our might. 
When we battled for the right. 

In the days when we followed Eobert Lee ! 

Like the wind among the pines, 
As he rides on down the lines. 
Whilst every bayonet shines. 

Sounds the cheer when his noble form we see, — 
Ah, the world shall never know 
All our trust in weal and woe. 
In that grand old long ago 

All our love, as we followed Eobert Lee! 
22 



IN CAMP AND FIELD 



But the vision will not stay. 
And the flag is furled away. 
For we fought and lost the day, — 

Ah, the forms which we never more shall see ! 
But they counted not the cost, — 
'Twas a willing holocaust, — 
And the glory was not lost. 

In the days when we followed Eobert Lee ! 

Compensation 

In Commemoration of the Confederate Dead of the Uni- 
versity of Virginia 

Was it waste when the sons who were reared at thy 
side 
At the beat of the drum did not falter nor pause. 
But by duty were drawn, as the waves by the tide. 

Obedient to laws ? 
Was it waste when they struggled and suffered and 
died 
For flag and for cause ? 

Was it waste when they went from this Temple of 
Lore, 
In the prime of their youth, with its secrets un- 
learned. 
Like the guests of a banquet who vanish before 

The torches are burned? 
Was it waste that they left ere the lesson was o'er, 
The pages unturned ? 
23 



MY THREE LOVES 



Was it waste that they spent in the battle and strife 
All the gifts that were theirs and the treasures of 
youth ? 
Was it waste that they bartered the joyance of life 

For travail and ruth ? — 
That they gave of their best, when the struggle was 
rife. 
For honour and truth? 

Was it waste when the ointment was poured on the 
feet 
Of the Christ when the spices in linen were bound ? 
Was it waste when He died as the grain of the wheat 

That's cast on the ground? 
Did the world think it waste when, the harvest com- 
plete, 
Its glory was found? 

Was it waste when the Spartan returned on his shield ? 

Was it waste when Leonidas guarded the way? — 
Or when Harold lay dead with his knights on the 
field. 
At close of the day ? 
Was it waste when a Winkelried, rather than yield. 
Was slain in the fray ? 

Ah, the world has its praise for the men who prevail. 
For the victors who triumph by wrong and bj 
might; 

24 



IN CAMP AND FIELD 



But the heart has its love for the vanquished who fail 

Yet battle for right ! 
And their names they will shine, when the conquerors' 
pale. 

Like stars in the night ! 

For the laurels of triumph are lost like the wave. 
Like the foam of the billows that break on the 
shore ; 
But the laurels of love men cherish and save 

Whilst truth shall endure, — 
They shall garland the home, though the fallen and 
brave 
Have passed thro' the door. 

Was it waste ? Nay, thy sons but translated in deed 
All the truths of the books of the wisest and best; 
They were seekers of Honour, and chose but to heed 

Her royal behest. 
And the names of the dead are the pages we read 
To learn of the quest. 



25 



MY THREE LOVES 



Again ! 

Delivered in Norfolk on Memorial Day, Thursday, May 
15th, 1903 

Spring yet again her treasure trove discloses 

Her wealth of blossom, bud, and bloom. 
Leaves on the trees, and heavy clustered roses, — 

And we forget the winter's gloom ! 
Life everywhere, as sleeping Earth arouses 

To tender touch of sun and rain, 
Lillies and violets in leafy houses 

The redolence distil again. 

No secret lost, no hue, no scent forgotten. 

The Spring asserts her ancient powers. 
Forests that seemed decayed, and dead, and rotten. 

Are changed once more to shady bowers; 
Fields, by the winter clad in snow, she dresses 

In living green or golden grain, 
JSTature, so dormant, through her skill possesses 

Her ev'ry charm and grace again. 

Comes with the Spring the thought no years can 
banish 
Of those far days of lordly strife. 
Visions appear that seem to fade and vanish 
Amid the stir and whirl of life; 
26 



IN CAMP AND FIELD 



Mem'ry resumes her sway and Love her sceptre, 

But gone the bitterness and pain, — 
Prizing the glory which defeat has left her 

The Southland lives her past again. 

Backward, resistless, come the memories trooping, 

Of Jackson, Stuart, Hampton, Lee, 
Memories of men who took this banner drooping 

And gave it forth to breezes free ; 
Mem'ries of women, gentle, brave, and tender, 

Fair ministers to want and pain — 
Long be the day before our hearts surrender 

The right to dream this dream again ! 

Spring now her roses finds on branches perished 

In winter's stern relentless chill. 
We too in our heroic past and cherished 

Shall find the flowers of glory still. 
Dead tho' they sleep, yet must our hearts be loyal. 

Whilst honour, love, and truth remain. 
Faithful to those whose deeds so fair and royal 

Eemembrance wakes to life again ! 

Cold is the heart that beats not truer, faster, 

Beside this consecrated dust. 
Valour is valour though it meet disaster. 

And lost no cause will seem less just. 
Green be their graves and honoured still their story, 

And free their names from ev'ry stain, — 
These men who died, but whose unfading glory 

Will light the people's path again. 
27 



MY THREE LOVES 



Eing out and clearly ring a requiem splendid 

For all who sleep and wore the grey; 
Bring here the wreaths with love and honour blended, 

For none are wortliier love than they. 
Mem'ry returns and tears the veil asunder; 

The living comrade meets the slain. 
Almost it seems we hear the cannon thunder 

And are Confederates again ! 



Deo Vindice 

Dedication of the Monument of the Otey Batt«ry 

Ring out, ye Bugles, loud and clear ! 

We muster on this knoll, 
And let each comrade answer "Here V 

As Honour calls the roll. 

Between us and the days of strife 

Stretch many years afar, — 
The battles we have fought in life 

Out-number those of war. 

But still the mem'ry of those days 

Defies the fretting years, 
And still the fancy backward strays. 

With mingled smiles and tears. 
28 



IN CAMP AND FIELD 



Thro' varied scenes her pathwaj^ rims, 

But brings us all at last, 
To where we see our flashing guns. 

And hear the bugle's blast. 

And as we gaze with eager eyes 

Thro' mists of long ago. 
Familiar forms before us rise, 

And faces which we know. 

And when from out the distance dim 
The breeze is blowing clear. 

We — ^like a strain of childhood's hymn- 
Eemembered voices hear. 

Comrades, hark the bugle's sound !- 
Tho' fast the years have sped ; 

To-day on Mem'ry's neutral ground 
The living meet the dead. 

Let Glory sound the reveille. 
And then the dead will wake; 

So shall our ranks unbroken be. 
As here our camp we make. 

Comrades from the farther shore. 
Was yours the sadder fate. 

Who fell before the fight was o'er. 
Whilst Vict'ry held the gate ? — 
29 



MY THREE LOVES 



Who fell whilst yet the voice of Fame 

Was ringing in your ears. 
Who never saw your country's shame, 

Nor mourned her cause with tears? 

For you the vision never paled, 

The flag was never furled; 
Ye fell, whilst yet its stars prevailed 

To keep at bay the world. 

To-day that banner only waves 

Where fell the silent dew. 
To bless the flow'rs and grass of graves 

Which hide the brave and true. 

We lived to see how vain the trust, 
How vain the strife and toil; 

For that alone which holds your dust 
Eemains Confederate soil. 

We saw our armies forced to yield. 

Our visions fade away; 
But ye who fell on Honour's field 

Still wear Confederate grey. 

This stone shall now our Mizpah be. 
This spot our rallying place. 

Where they who fought for liberty 
Shall meet them face to face. 
30 



IN CAMP AND FIELD 



This shaft on which we carve no name 
Shall guide Virginia's youth, — 

A sign-post on the road to Fame, 
To Honour and to Truth. 

A silent sentry, it shall stand 
To guard, thro' coming time, 

Their graves who died for native land 
And duty most sublime. 

Comrades of the days of yore. 

If courage still inspire 
Like that which would not quail before 

The Crater's murd'rous fire. 

These mem'ries of the time afar 

Shall teach us how to wield 
Our weapons in the sterner war. 

On life's great battle-field, — 

The shaft, with which the hands of love 

'Now mark this sacred sod. 
Shall point to clearing skies above 

And bid us hope in God, — 

Shall bid us seek life's nobler gain. 

Until our spirits feel 
The motto was not writ in vain 

On our Confederate seal. 



31 



MY THREE LOVES 



Dedication of the Monument to the Con- 
federate Dead at Portsmouth, Va. 

Where rolls the Nile its turbid stream 
And makes the valley laugh with corn, 

Where kingdoms pass, as though in dream. 
Which waxed and waned ere Greece was born, 

There stand, to-day, unworn by years. 
Which learn the languor of the clime. 

The stones inwrought with blood and tears 
That tyrants raised to challenge time. 

And man still sees with blush of shame 

On obelisk and pyramid 
Inscribed a crowned monster's name 

And all th' unmanly deeds he did. 

The tale of woe, of crime, of lust. 

Which JSTemesis will not erase, — 
We read it still, tho' there be dust 

On ev'ry sculptured Pharaoh's face! 

This stone which loving hands upraise 

Its story tells of blood and tears. 
But none shall blush who come to gaze — 

Tho' here it stand a thousand years. 
32 



IN CAMP AND FIELD 



'Twas freeman's blood — not that of slaves — 
In freedom's cause most freely shed. 

And tears which fell on many graves 

From hearts that would not grudge the dead. 

And Glory here shall speak the name 
Of men unnamed in History's page. 

And claim for them a share of fame 
In ev'ry great heroic age. 

They came from valley, mount and glen, 
From where the ocean billows foam, 

A nation's strong, intrepid men. 

From cottage, hut, and stately home. 

One serried band — Manassas' plain 

With vict'ry wreathes the flag they bear — 

They charge and charge, and charge again, 
And only know that "Stonewall's" there ! 

bold and dauntless Southern host. 
Who dared to march at Jackson's side. 

Is this your country's proudest boast? — 
Or that ye marched when Jackson died ? 

men whose sabres kept the land. 
Who answered Ashby's ringing cheer, 

Who rode with knightly Stuart's band 
And only asked if foes were near, — 
33 



MY THREE LOVES 



cannoneers, who steadfast stood 
By Pelham with, the laughing eye. 

Who though your guns were drenched with blood, 
Ne^er failed to give the foe reply, — 

0, seamen staunch, and brave, and true. 
Who manned our Southern ships and sailed 

Beneath the starry cross of blue. 

And fought as long as hope availed, — 

men who followed stately Lee, 
Nor faltered when disaster came, — 

The deeds ye wrought shall surely be 
Inscribed on lofty gates of Fame. 

So long as Glory lifts her head. 

And truth within her bosom springs. 

She'll deem our dear Confederate dead 
More worth than all of Egypt's kings ! 

city by the sounding sea. 

Be thine the ever sacred trust, — 
To guard their name from slander free. 

And teach the world their cause was just ! 



34 



IN CAMP AND FIELD 



Unveiling of the Monument to the Confed- 
erate Dead of Gloucester 

September 18, 1889 

A stone from the spot where a hero fell,* 

In the midst of the April bloom. 
Come take it, Sculptor, and make it tell 

Of the men who encountered doom. 
Unheeding the shriek of the shot and shell. 

Unheeding the tomb ! 

Aye, give it a voice — ^like herald of yore. 

An echo that lingers and stays — 
To speak of the love and the faith they bore. 

As they fought in the grand old days. 
And charged 'mid the clamour and smoke and roar. 

Unmindful of praise ! 

Then make it as Memnon, — let music flow 

In the glow of the Southern sun. 
In strains which are tender, and soft and low, 

As they tell how the deeds were done 
By the men of our blood, 'till the world shall know 

The glory they won ! 

* Gen'l A. P. HiU. 

35 



MY THREE LOVES 



Emblazon the names of the true and tried. 

Engrave them with care in stone ! 
Onr children must feel that the dead have died 

For a cause that we deemed our own. 
And blush not for men we have marched beside 

In days that are flown ! 

On fields that are sacred to fame they fell, 

Let them sleep in a soldier's grave. 
By mountain and valley and lonely dell. 

In the plain, by the ocean wave, — 
The stone that we garland with flowers shall tell 

Our love for the brave ! 

Then shield it forever from time's decay, 

Let it shine as a beacon light 
And point to the fame of the men in grey 

Who surrendered their lives for Eight, — 
The bravest shall pause, as they pass this way, 

And thrill at the sight ! 

Virginia may call as she called of old, 

But she never shall call in vain, 
Whilst Gloucester has sons who are true and bold. 

Who have learned from her glorious slain. 
That duty is dearer by far than gold. 

And honour than gain ! 



36 



IN CAMP AND FIELD 



Father Ryan 

There was never a voice to utter 
The grief and the pain of the land, 

Til] his music awoke responsive 
To the tender touch of his hand. 

She bowed in her desolate silence. 
And mourned by the graves of her dead. 

And she longed for the consolation 
That comes when the tears are shed. 

Till his strains, as they fell, awakened 
In the soul that bent o'er the sod, 

iN'ew faith in the gracious designings, 
In the hidden purpose of God. 

He'd learned, as he knelt at his altars. 
To trust in Omnipotent Love, 

And his song had an inspiration 
Which echoed to music above. 

He took all our idle complainings. 
And lo ! in their stead, in one mouth. 

His song as a low supplication. 

Welled up from the heart of the South. 
37 



MY THREE LOVES 



His strains, full of pathos and glory. 
And heard of a listening world. 

Entwined, as a wreath of immortelles, 
The flag that we wearily furled. 

There is never a grave so humble, 

In all of the desolate land. 
But his verse has inscribed upon it 

An epitaph stately and grand. 

Once more — ^by the beds of the dying, 
In the homes of the pestilent West — 

His song, like a low miserere. 
Goes up from his pitying breast. 

A wail for the woe of his people, 

A plea that God's mercy would spare. 

And we take up its lowly burden. 

And change all our murmurs to prayer. 

Ah, the South is stricken and anguished ! 

But never a heart can forget 
The solace his music has brought us, — 

And its echo lingereth yet ! 



38 



IN CAMP AND FIELD 



James Barron Hope 

Troubadour, whose hand with equal skill 
Could wield a warrior's sword amidst the fray. 

Or sweep the slumbering chords of music till 
All hearts were willing captives to its sway, — 

knightly soul, gentle because so strong, 
kindly heart, tender because so brave, 

How shall we miss the solace of thy song. 

Where find the strength which thy mere presence 



Honour and Love, these words were written large 
On thy life's page, so spotless white and pure, — 

Thy name like some well-freighted treasure barge 
In memory's haven anchors now secure. 

Like those of whom the olden Scriptures tell. 
Who faltered not but went on dang'rous quest 

For one cool draught of water from the well 
With which to cheer their exiled monarch's breast. 

So thou, to add one single laurel more 

To our great chieftain's fame, — ^heedless of pain, — 
Didst gather up thy failing strength and pour 

Forth all thy soul in one last glorious strain. 
39 



MY THREE LOVES 



And "when the many pilgrims come to gaze 
Upon the sculptured form of mighty Lee, 

They'll not forget the bard who sang his praise 
With dying breath but deathless melody. 

For on the statue which a country rears, 
Tho' graven by no hand, we'll surely see, 

E'en tho' it be thro' blinding mists of tears. 
Thy name forever linked with that of Lee. 



John R. Thompson 

On the presentation of a portrait to the University of 
Virginia 

Lo! through the purple mists that veil the further 
shore, 
As through a cloud the light of some familiar star. 
There comes the dear remembered face, 
So full of mingled strength and grace, — 
The troubadour who sang Virginia's songs of yore. 
And gave one clarion note above the din of war 

Too frail of frame to wield the warrior's flashing 
blade. 
He could not share the tented field or soldier's 
dream. 
But strong of soul, heroic heart, 
He came to take the minstrel's part, 
And stirred the pulse of men until his music made 
The path of duty sweet, and danger winsome seem. 
40 



IN CAMP AND FIELD 



He wreathed in tender verse his garlands round the 
brow 
Of those who fell with glory's smile athwart the 
face, 
As when he laid with loving tear 
His laurel spray on Stuart's bier, — 
The singer by the knight, they sleep together now 
Where breaks the river through the rocks, — a holy 
place ! 

He knew the kindly art of touching hidden springs 
In human hearts, and saw the good in friend and 
foe. 
He made us pass the gates of war. 
And showed the vision fair tho' far, 
Of home again, and friends, of peace with healing 
wings. 
Of all that stays and cheers when strife and hatred 
go. 

His pen, like some enchanted wand, unloosed the 
chain 
That bound our thoughts, — forgot awhile were 
camp and fight, — 
A trustful guide he led along 
The sweet and pleasant lanes of song. 
And o'er romance's wide and wond'rous fair domain 
And where the breezes blow from great Parnassus' 
height. 

41 



MY THREE LOVES 



A man of many books, his friends the goodly band 
Of whom the thoughts and words enrich our Eng- 
lish, tongue ; 
For Chaucer's haunts he knew, the field 
Where Sydney fell with stainless shield. 
And oft he followed Spenser through his fairy land. 
Or roamed with Shakespeare all the Avon groves 
among. 

His ear was skilled to Milton's music, vast, sublime ; 
The polished shafts of Dryden, Pope's too honeyed 
line, — 
He knew them well, but still his heart 
Had room for humbler sons of art. 
And ever loved to hear the sweet melodious rhyme 
Of those on whom no golden rays of glory shine. 

He shared the genial mirth of Addison and Steele, 
And loved of Goldsmith's muse the pure and lim- 
pid stream, — 
He found among them all a place. 
Nor feared the frown on Johnson's face, — 
His many-sided nature taught him how to feel 
At home with those who laugh, and those who think 
— and dream. 

He knew the heart and lays of Scotia's peasant bard. 
Whom Genius proudly claimed as kinsman, — ^yea, 
as peer, — 

42 



IN CAMP AND FIELD 



The wooded lakes where Wordsworth dreamed 
And Coleridge thought — they almost seemed 
Familiar spots to one who could not find it hard 
To love the homes of song, but ever deemed them 
dear. 

He followed Byron through the sacred ways of Greece, 
And caught th^ ethereal note of Shelley's mystic 
strain ; 
He heard the prince's bugle blast 
That waked the great historic past. 
And brought to slumb'ring knights and ladies fair re- 
lease. 
And made them live and love, and act their parts 
again. 

With these immortal dead he ever loved to roam 
The twilight fields of thought and — fortune's 
happy choice! 
In life he knew, and called him friend 
Who taught the critic's page to blend 
His smiles with tears ; he shared the laureled hermit's 
home. 
And learned the poet's music through the poet's 
voice. 

He knew Virginia's Poe, the Christopher of song. 
Who sailed o'er rhythmic seas to men before un- 
known, 

43 



MY THREE LOVES 



And heard such strains and visions saw 
As filled the heart with sweetest awe. 
His soul the battlefield of warring right and wrong; 
The world its failures marked, its triumphs God 
alone. 

Our poet's mind, enriched by fellowship with these. 
He took the gifts God gave, the garnered fruits of 
lore. 
And, serving art alone, not self. 
Unheeding glory, fame, and pelf. 
He only sought his lov'd Virginia's heart to please 
With strains that linger though the singer sing no 
more. 

0, Alma Mater, many sons have learned of thee. 
And brought their after laurels back thy brows to 
grace ! 
On fields of our heroic strife. 
In all the lofty ways of life, 
They play'd a worthy part, and dear their names 
shall be — 
give thy minstrel son a warm and tender place ! 

He loved thee well, and sang with open heart thy 
praise. 
Who taught him wisdom, truth and fair exalted 
dreams ; 
His each melodious verse, like Poe's, 
Is pure as blush on summer's rose, '] 

44 



IN CAMP AND FIELD 



Or maiden's cheek ; the southern wind that idly plays 
With fragile branch and lily bloom no gentler 
seems. 

His mirrored self we place on yonder classic wall, — 
Ah me, the form we knew so long ago, so long ! — 
His eyes shall light the sacred fire 
In other hearts, shall wake desire 
As pure as dream of Holy Grail, desire of all 

The minstrel taught when life vibrated forth in 
song. 



John Randolph Tucker 

At the Dedication of the Memorial Hall, Washington and 
Lee University 



Two lustrous names which linked together seem 

■ As priceless jewels linked by virgin gold. 
Two stars that blend in one transcendent gleam 

To deck the firmament of fame and hold 
The torch to light the path which they must tread 

Who would unveiled the face of glory see, 
For high we find on scrolls of noblest dead 
Virginia's sons, her Washington and Lee. 
45 



MY THREE LOVES 



The academic halls, which classic make 

This valley hemmed by mountain ranges high, 
Fulfill the quiet dreams of one who brake 

The tyrant's power and hailed in freedom's sky 
A nation's natal sign, as pure as bright. 

Who midst the stir of war and toils of state 
Did pause to care for learning's sacred light. 

The hero whom the world has christened "Great." 

Here came a kindred soul, in after years, — 

His country's sun had set behind the cloud. 
His country's hopes were shrined in patriot's tears. 

His country's cause was wrapped in glory's shroud, — 
But nobler thus, he lived to show the world 

That human virtue seems, at least, the mate 
Of human chance, that though his flag were furled 

Its honor would outvie the stress of fate. 

On guard they stand, at learning's mystic door. 

Twin sentinels, to ask the countersign 
Of all who seek to cross the threshold o'er 

And enter where is truth's eternal shrine. 
Tho' rich the gifts the numbered years have brought 

To your collegiate home, surpassing dear 
Are these imperial mem'ries interwrought 

With ev'ry stbne of ev'ry structure here. 



46 



IN CAMP AND FIELD 



II 

Mother loved, thy many sons, 

In whom the blood of freedom runs. 

Have wandered far and wide ; 
But still they turn their thoughts to thee 
And still their home, where'er they be. 

Is near thy side, — 
Here where the mountains, one by one. 
Keep kindly watch o'er Lexington ! 

From ISTorth, from South, from East, from West, 
The children nurtured at thy breast 

Eeturn their love to tell. 
And give to thee with willing heart 
This stately hall the sculptor's art 

Has builded well, — 
Here where the moon, the stars and sun ^ 
Look kindly down on Lexington ! 

A school in which thy youth may trace 
The source of law, and face to face 

With vestal Justice stand. 
And learn to weigh the right and wrong 
In equal scales, for weak and strong. 

In all the land, — 
Here where the mountains, one by one. 
Keep kindly watch o'er Lexington! 

47 



MY THREE LOVES 



And thou shalt teach, with patient care, 
In this thy home — the very air 

Is surely freedom's breath — 
The sons who gather at thy side, 
To crave the boon of him who cried, 

"Or, give me death I" — 
Here where the moon, the stars, and sun 
Keep watch and ward o'er Lexington ! 

0, tell thy sons, lest they forget. 
The tale of how their fathers met, 

On what is holy ground ! 
And claimed the right from kingly hands 
To live in Anglo-Saxon lands 

As men unbound, — 
tell it here as freedom's sun 
Looks kindly down on Lexington ! 



Ill 



The lordly walls that stand complete at last, 

Builded strong for coming time. 
Are linked with all the unforgotten past, 

Eich in memories sublime. 
We bring to-day the old traditions here, — 

Find for them, friends, a place, 
For art and wealth have nothing half so dear. 

Half so full of tender grace. 
48 



IN CAMP AND FIELD 



We bring the cherished thoughts of one whose name 

Honour stoops to carve in stone, 
Of one who knew no avarice of fame 

Seeking principle alone, — 
Who ever bowed subservient when he saw 

Truth and equity combine. 
Who felt the splendid majesty of law 

Sovereign by right divine. 

A thinker, keen of subtle mind but pure. 

True in thought as true in deed, 
A statesman strong, who never bent before 

Passion's gusts, nor altered creed, — 
Virginia's child, his heart did seldom roam 

Yond this vale, his native sod. 
The many loves were his, of friends, of home 

Love of country, love of God. 

His gift, the eloquence of speech that seems 

Souls, as winds the trees, to sway. 
To sweep conviction home, as mountain streams 

All that bars and stops the way. 
In courts, in halls of state he could command 

Mastery of thought and grace. 
Or gain the people when he came to stand 

Man with men and face to face. 

His gift, the gift of humor, mirth, and joy. 

Made his life perennial spring; 
The spirit which was his as child, as boy. 

Lingered when his youth took wing. 
49 



MY THREE LOVES 



He chose the sunny path, in good and ill, 

Stxiving other paths to bless ; 
He would not let the snow his gladness chill, 

Winter make his laughter less. 

His gifts, the gifts of faith, of hope, of love ; 

Christ and God were ever near. 
His soul had seen the visions fair above; 

Perfect love had cast out fear. 
His mind had wrestled with the problems deep. 

Whence and why of life and death; 
Yet, like a little child, he fell to sleep. 

Trusting still with latest breath, 

Alma Mater, keep before the youth 

Who shall seek this school of laws 
The kindly thought of one who loved the truth. 

Friend of every holy cause ! 
Here, where he brought the fruitage gleaned in life. 

Sharing mind and strength and fame 
With those he trained for service, trained for strife. 

Breathe, and gently breathe his name. 



50 



IN CAMP AND FIELD 



The Beloved Physician 

Fiftieth Anniversary of the ^practice of Dr. Herbert M. 
Nash, Surgeon, P. B. G. C. V. 

A century's half of honest toil. 

The record lies where all may read, 

The years so free from stain or soil 
So rich in noble work and deed. 

A century's half not spent for gain, 

But spent in ministries to man. 
Who heals the sick, who soothes the pain. 

Succeeds to work which Christ began. 

No greener laurels grace the brow 
Of soldier, hero, prince nor bard 

Than those with which we crown him now, 
Who deemed no path of duty hard. 

No fear of pestilence deterred, 

No dread of sword, of shell nor ball. 

He simply went where'er was heard 
Of human need and woe the call. 

The crescent years look down to-day 

On many valiant deeds of love. 
"Well done ! 0, kindly heart," we say, — 

'*Well done!" the Christ will say above. 
51 



MY THREE LOVES 



John Augustine Washington 
of Mount Vernon 

Lt.-Col. and Aide-de-Camp to General Robert Edward Lee, 
0.8. A. Killed, Valley Mountain, 8ept. 18, 1861 

No soldier of fortune, no seeker of pelf, 

Ifo lover of glory and fame, 
But simply a man who was true to himself. 

The home where he'd dwelt and his name. 

He rode far away at the call of the land. 

Unmindful of peril and fate, 
A smile on his face and a wave of his hand. 

For children Avho stood at the gate. 

He rode by the side of the kingliest knight, 

And deemed it a guerdon to share 
His tent and the march and the danger and fight. 

To kneel by his chieftain in prayer. 

He lay where he fell, with the light on his face. 

Untouched by dishonor and shame. 
Defeated, yet true to the pride of his race. 

The home where he'd dwelt and his name. 

The tears were like dew in the eyes of the chief. 
Who gazed on the form of his friend. 

And thought of the children at home and their grief, 
The blosgorn of life and its end. 
52 



IN CAMP AND FIELD 



He sent, all entwined with his pity and love, 
The flowers that grew where he fell, 

And angels, who walked on the ramparts above, 
Eepeated their call, "It is well." 

'Tis well, if for years he has slept 'neath the sod, 

Uncrowned by the laurels of fame. 
And simply a man who was true to his God, 

The home where he'd dwelt and his name. 



*'En Dat Virginia Quintum" 

Virginia Day, Chicago, 1893 



"En dat Virginia quintum" — 

So ran the legend that bore 
The shield of the Old Dominion 

Emblazoned in days of yore. 
And what did she give, England? 

Ay, what did she give to thee? — ■ 
A soil that was pure and virgin 

And rivers unfettered, free, 
Which filled all the land with gladness 

As they rushed to th' azure sea. 
53 



MY THREE LOVES 



II 

And skies that were blue and golden 

As those of the isles of Greece, 
And valleys as green and quiet 

As vales in the realms of peace. 
And fields that were fair and lavish 

To yield ev'ry kind of store. 
And woods that were vast, primeval, 

And mountains enriched with ore. 
And waters that brought new tribute 

Each tide to the shining shore. 

Ill 

To sons of a race stout-hearted. 

Whom God had designed to free. 
She gave a new home, where open 

The gates of the restless sea, 
A home where the English virtues 

Transplanted might seem as fair. 
In soil that was still uncrowded 

In pure and untainted air — 
And Liberty's seed long dormant 

Could blossom and bud and bare. 

IV 

"En dat Virginia quinium" — 
And what did she give to thee, 

Thou youngest and fairest nation. 
The land of the brave and free?— 
54 



IN CAMP AND FIELD 



A mother unsparing, tender, 

To children who nursed her breast, 

She gave a goodly portion, — 
A share of her golden West, — 

For whether ^tis blood or treasure. 
She ever will give her best. 

V 
Her heart was the first to worship 

The Christ as the Lord of Lands, 
And first from her shoulder to loosen 

The grasp of a monarch's hands. 
Her voice was the first to utter 

A cry in our Freedom's cause 
And claim for the sovereign people 

A share in the draft of laws, — 
To speak without fear or trembling. 

Or dread of the Lion's paws. 

VI 

"En dat Virginia quintum" — 

0, what did she give at last. 
When, Freedom her bugle sounding, 

The die of her fate was cast? — 
The words of her dauntless Henry, 

Which called to the people's heart. 
Which scattered the old illusions. 

And tore all the veils apart, — 
Which pierced thro' the joints of tyrants. 

And smote with a rankling dart. 

55 



MY THREE LOVES 



VII 

She claimed thro' the voice of Mason, 

The life of a man is f ree^ 
And Liberty's prelude sounded, 

In silvery tones, thro' Lee. 
She gave to the field and council 

Her best and her foremost men. 
She drew out her sword, — ^her scabbard. 

She cast it aside, — and then 
Her name was inscribed with nations 

By Jefferson's matchless pen. 

VIII 

"En dat Virginia quinium" — 

She gave to thee — ^nay ! the world. 
When beacon fires were kindled. 

The flag of her birth unfurled. 
The man of all men whom Glory 

Has crowned with the name of Great, 
Who wrested the fruits of vict'ry 

From th' unwilling arms of Fate, 
And brought through the storm and tempest 

Our glorious Ship of State. 

IX 

She dowered thy land with greatness 
And wrote thy illustrious name 

With deeds of her peerless children 
On th' opening page of Fame ! 
56 



IN CAMP AND FIELD 



And, like the wind in its swiftness. 
She'll come to the nation's call. 

Wherever the fight is fiercest 
Or thickest the arrows fall, — 

She'll bring to thy aid and succour 
Her treasure and blood and all. 

X 

"En dat Virginia quintum" — 

No blush as she marks her past! 
She's followed the lead of duty 

And comes into port at last. 
She brings to the mart of nations 

Her riches of mine and field, — 
But poorer she'll be if ever 

She barter or sell or yield 
One jot of her stainless glory. 

One ray from her spotless shield. 



57 



IN LOVE'S GARDEN 



IN LOVE'S GARDEN 



The Rhone and the Arve 

or 
The Course of True Love 

The Rhone has for its source several springs, near the 
Glacier du Rhone, and flows through the Canton of the 
Valais, betiveen the parted Alps, until its current is lost in 
Lake Leman. On one side of the Savoy Alps rise precip- 
itously; on the other side slope the Jorat Hills, terraced 
%mth vineyards and cloven, here and there, by valleys and 
ravines, covered toith wild narcissus. At Geneva the Rhone 
rushes swiftly from the lake, uniting with the Arve a few 
miles below the town. 

The Arve rises in the valley of Chamouni, one of its 
sources gushing forth from the Sea of Ice at the base of 
Mount Blanc. It breaks through the valley at the Gorge de 
Serroz. When it joins the Rhone its snowy waters flow in 
the same channel with the clear blue waters of the latter, 
until at last, their colours mingling, they flow on together 
through the fields of France, to the Mediterranean. 

I 

Can they ever come together, 
Can they meet and kiss each other, 
The two rivers Fate has parted? — 
Winsome Rhone, who, like a maiden. 
In the Valais springs and bubbles. 
Like a maiden merry-hearted. 
Careless-footed, all unladen 
Of Life's troubles; — 
61 



MY THREE LOVES 



II 

Eager Arve, that stays and shivers, 
But a moment, ere he quivers. 
Ere he rushes thro' th' embrasure 
Of his icy, dreary prison. 

How he shouts in gleeful madness 
As he hastens from the glacier 
On to where the sun's uprisen 
In its gladness ! 

Ill 

Ah ! the Ehone, she swiftly passes, 
Down the crags and thro' crevasses, — 
None can stay nor follow after; — 
But she may not pass on over 

The grim Alps that gaze in wonder 
Tho' she cry, with merry laughter, 
"Let me by, for I've a lover 
Over yonder !" 

IV 

Then she turns, and softly sighing, 
Thro' the Valais swiftly hieing. 
Past the mountains, — silent wardens. 
By the valley kept asunder, — 

Flees unheeding clouds that hover. 
Thro' the fields and scented gardens, — 
And she whispers, "Over yonder 
I've a lover!" 
63 



IN LOVE'S GARDEN 



V 

Ah ! the Arve, — the King of mountains 
Can not chain his eager fountains 
With his snows and ice eternal, — 
On he hastens never heeding 
Avalanche nor roar of thunder 
Murm'ring, through the valley vernal, 
"To a river I am speeding, 
Over yonder I" 

VI 

And the Ehone is flowing faster 
In her quest to meet her master. 

Who shall help her seek the ocean, — 
On — by towns and hamlets turning. 
On — by village bridges under, 
On — with swift unbroken motion, — 
For the lover ever yearning 
Over yonder ! 

VII 

Ah ! the Ehone, the placid Leman, 
Like some fair and treach'rous demon. 
Like some fair, relentless ogress, — 
As the siren with Ulysses, 
By her jealous arts devining. 
Tries to bar and stay her progress. 
Tries to silence, hush with kisses 
Love's repining ! 
63 



MY THREE LOVES 



VIII 

And tlie Alps, whose peaks discover. 
On the other side her lover, — 

Grey, grim Alps, of love abhorrent ! — 
Try to keep the lovers parted; 
And the lake she's resting under 
With her magic stills her torrent. 
Till the Arve is broken-hearted. 
Over yonder ! 

IX 

But the Jorat, more unbending. 
To the lake-side slowly wending. 
Tells the river, '^ould you kiss us, 
You may surely pass on over. 
Where our vineyards part asunder. 
Thro' our vales of sweet narcissus." 
But she answers, "I've no lover 
Over yonder!" 

X 

And the Arve, he hastens ever. 
With a restless, strong endeavour. 

Thro' the valley mountain-bounded, — 
And he hammers, till he crushes 
Down his prison's last reliance, — 
Till, as when a stag is hounded. 
Thro' the rocky gorge he rushes 
In defiance ! 

64 



IN LOVE'S GARDEN 



XI 

And the tender, soft beguiling. 
Of the fragrant fields and smiling, 
And the bell, at matins ringing. 
Can not stay his eager flowing; 
And the Vesper bell unheeding. 
On he glances, lightly singing, 
"To my loved one I am going, 
I am speeding!'^ 

XII 

But the Ehone is bolder, bolder. 
For, at last, a something's told her. 

That tho' strong the walls that bound her. 
Yet the stream of her existence 

Is not spent, tho' scarcely moving, — 
So she looks and looks beyond her. 
With a maiden's fond persistence 
In her loving ! 

XIII 

As the fates her love embolden. 
She perceives a city olden. 

Where the mountains watch no longer. 
Then beneath the bridges darting, — 
Where the children gaze in wonder, — 
On she hastens, swifter, stronger. 
As she whispers, "There's no parting 
Over yonder !" 
65 



MY THREE LOVES 



XIV 

the rapture rare of meeting, 
the music sweet of greeting. 
When at last the barrier's broken ! 
Now (the weary sun descending) 

On the mountain heights in distance 
Is the purple flush, the token 

Of their Avrath as comes the ending 
Of resistance. 

XV 

And now close, — all partings ended, — 
In one channel still unblended. 
Are the Arve and Ehone together; 
Here the water grey and troubled 

With the battling fierce with mountains, 
But as crystal blue the other 

As when first it gushed and bubbled 
Sunny fountains. 

XVI 

But, at last their currents merging, 
After Love's impetuous urging. 

Flows the Eiver, — twain no longer ! — 
And the hand of fate can never 
Part the lovers thus united, — 
Gentler one, the other stronger. 

When their troth, for now and ever. 
They have plighted ! 
66 



IN LOVE'S GARDEN 



XVII 

On — ^thro' clover-scented meadows, 
On — in gloomy mountain shadows. 
Flow the wedded streams together; 
And they glide with quiet motion, — 
Or they speed with roar of thunder, 
Whisp'ring oft to one another. 
As they seek to reach the ocean, 
"Eest is yonder !" 

XVIII 

Now the current moves more slowly. 
With a requiem sad and lowly, 
Where the velvet mantle covers 
Weary forms in silence sleeping. 
Now, as sing and sail the maidens. 
In the barges near their lovers. 
On it courses, ever keeping 
Gentle cadence, 

XIX 

Till the Eiver, young no longer, 
Growing wider, deeper, stronger. 
Plays its part in Life's endeavour ! 
And by busy cities flowing, — 
On the bosoms Love has mated. 
On the bosoms none can sever, — 
Are the Vessels coming, going. 
Treasure-freighted. 
67 



MY THREE LOVES 



XX 

But, at last, the daylight dimmer, — 
Lo, the Moon begins to glimmer 
On the Ocean over yonder ! — 
And the streams that sought each other. 
In the valley fair and vernal. 
And the lovers none could sunder 
Find forever, find together 
Eest eternal ! 



In the Land of Vaud 

'Tis the hour of all hours for lovers and poets, — 
And lovers and poets, I hold, Dear, are one, — 

When the dark virgin night refuses to show its 
Sad beauty unveiled to the amorous Sun. 

The soft spell of twilight, with hintings of quiet. 
Is over the scene now, so come to the crest 

Of the fair Jorat mount, no matter how high it 
May seem, you can climb it, and there let us rest ! 

And see, here you will find a cushion which, surely. 
All made of narcissus, is worthy a queen ! 

Let your mantle be closer, — Clierie, how purely 
You look like a part of the marvellous scene. 
68 



IN LOVE'S GARDEN 



the glory ! the beauty ! — ^never an artist 
Eevealed you one half of the charm it possessed ; 

Tho^ the contour is given, yet still the part missed, 
Eluding the brush and the skill, is the best. 

Over there, Dear, the Alps still blush for the kisses, — 
The roguish old Sun, he has gone to his rest ! — 

In a storm they look grander, — Surely tho' this is 
The scene for us lovers. OfE there in the West 

Is the King of them all, and Eosa o'er yonder, 
The needles and peaks, still enveloped in snow. 

In confusion arise. You gaze on and wonder 
If any can count them, or name them, — or know 

All the cliffs that the chamois timidly grazes. 
The crags where the eagle is monarch alone ! 

You may trace in the Valais, where Midi upraises 
His three marble domes, the thin trail of the Ehone. 

Oh ! the glory ! the splendor ! Dearest, there's stealing 
A shade of half sadness now over your brow ; 

To me, too, in twilight, there comes oft a feeling 
That fills me with pathos, I can not tell how. 

But ah ! Cherie, 'tis thus, whenever we gaze on 
The wonder beyond us, the mount or the skies. 

There is beauty above, and sadly it weighs on 
The soul that all vain is th' endeavour to rise. 
69 



MY THREE LOVES 



See the vineyards around, in terraces, wending 
Their way to the lake ; and the vendage is near, — 

For the scent of the wild narcissus is blending 
With scent of the grapes, — and, list ! borne on the 
ear, 

(As the vendangeurs seek, their day's work all over, 
Their homes in La Tour) is a quaint Vaudois air, — 

'Tis a soft serenade as some peasant lover 
A maiden beguiles in the vines over there. 

See the lake at our feet, its bosom just heaving, — 
(ISTo wind yet is stirring) as though in its rest 

Eememb'ring the storm ! — And so sorrow goes leaving 
Its own after swell too in each human breast. 

Since they only possess the gift of consoling 

Whose selves have been torn by the tempest of woes. 

So this lake unto men, whose souls had been rolling 
And tossed to the whirlwind, has given repose. 

For here Eousseau would come, his genius all tainted 
With taint of the world and all wearied of men. 

It was pure as again he tenderly painted 
With skill of a lover, with magical pen 

All the haunts of his youth. Forgot was the warfare 
He waged with the human. He loved nature more 

Than he hated minkind, and soft as the star there 
The light on the page that he wrote by this shore. 
70 



IN LOVE'S GARDEN 



And here Byron, the slave and captive of passion. 
Here Byron, the lord and master of song. 

When he turned from the world, its foibles and 
fashion. 
Would whisper to Heaven confessions of wrong 

And with voice of a sister, softly reproving. 
The clear placid waters of Leman would speak, 

Till the God, Who sees all, may here have seen moving 
The tear of remorse on the penitent's cheek. 

In the distance we hear the horn of the pastor, 
Its echoes proclaiming the moment of prayer. 

And the roofs of Vevey, as night gathers faster. 
Are hidden from view — Ah me ! Fancy, say where 

Is the picture I painted, vision romantic 

Of mountain and lake? They are vanished and 
gone! 

Oh, the Jorat and Leman ! — Eestless Atlantic 
Is rolling between us — I sit here alone. 



71 



MY THREE LOVES 



Only Two 

An Optical Delusion 

The scene, a Canadian river ; 

The time was the hour of sunset ; 
The boat, just as fragile as ever 

Was floated, was named the Coquette. 

Think you, I can ever forget? 
To four^ I remember, amounted 

The whole of the little bark's crew; 
But, somehow, whenever I counted,— 

The reason I leave unto you, — 
It seemed to consist of but two. 

A while we all chatted together 
Of themes that are suited to four, — 

The scene and the news and the weather, 
Of trips we had taken before, — 
And friends we had left on the shore ; 

But, soon as the little boat bounded 
Along at a wonderful rate. 

The converse mysteriously sounded, — 
The reason I leave you to state, — 
To me, like a low tete-a-tete. 
7» 



IN LOVE'S GARDEN 



And then, as the night was concealing 
The rocks on the shadowy shore, 

We sang with the tenderest feeling 
(In time with the splash of the oar) 
A song that was suited to four; 

And lo ! as the music resounded, — 
I knew we sang a quartette, — 

To me, for some reason, it sounded 
(What magic was in the Coquette'?) 
Like strains of a plaintive duet. 

But ah! when the voyage was over 

The boat at last grating the shore, 
How puzzled was I to discover 
The crew had consisted of four, — 
The number I'd counted before. 
Now tell me the reason, I pray you, — 
For see I've confided in you, — 

This viystery; come, what say youf — 
Was Cupidon one of the crew. 
That FOUK were thus changed into two ? 



1,T 



MY THREE LOVES 



Ad Puerum 

The Dinner, after She Left! 

Nay, Waiter, I'm half broken-hearted, 

No carte all my troubles can bear, 
And, now that the fair has departed, 

What matters a good bill of fare? 
'Twere mock'ry to serve me mock turtle,- 

E'en though supported by hock, — 
But wreathe me with cypress and myrtle. 

And let me encounter the shock. 
What care I, man, that your fish is 

The best that swims in the sea. 
Ah ! think you the rarest of dishes 

Can bring consolation to me? 

Each meat that you bring but unlooses 

The plentiful source of my grief. 
And not e'en the finest French juices 

Can bring me a moment's relief. 
Your duck. Sir, is only distressing 

When my duck, alas, is afar; 
The olives that serve as their dressing 

Are rather the emblems of war. 
You're poking fun at me, I see now. 

When you offer me pork, by Jove, 
Ah ! what's the bacon to me now, — 

Who bake on the "embers of love !" 
74 



IN LOVE'S GARDEN 



I care not for sherry a cent. Sir, — 

I call for my Cherie in vain, — 
My heart is with real pain rent. Sir, 

I scarcely have need of champagne. 
No fig would I give for a raisin, — 

Such reasons you only would waste,- 
The desert my sad heart now stays in 

Is dessert enough for my taste ! 
But lo ! as the ev'ning grows later. 

And the night is chasing the day, 
I'll order a pony, Waiter, 

And drive all my sorrows away. 



On Dit 

On dit that you hold me, Elaine, 

With cords there is nothing can sever; 
On dit that a mere silken chain 

Has bound me a captive forever; 
On dit that your voice has a charm 

To banish the traces of sorrow ; 
On dit that its magic can warm 

The heart it will chill on the morrow. 

On dit that you hold in your hand 
{On dit is so very malicious !) 

A wonderful fairy-like wand. 
To lead him wherever she wishes ; 
75 



MY THREE LOVES 



On dit that whenever my skies 

With clouds of depression are laden, 

It needs but a glance of your eyes 
To make even Hades an Aidenn. 

On dit that you boast of your power, 

And smile on the bud in the morning — 
At evening to wither the flower, 

It needs but a glance of your scorning ; 
On dit that your winning ways now 

The storms that are coming betoken; 
On dit, "Ah ! he little thinks how 

She'll laugh at the heart when 'tis broken," 

Je dis, as I hear them, Elaine, 

"Her magic is nothing but human; 
And what you imagine a chain. 

Is but the compassion of woman." 
Je dis that your voice has a tone 

The world it can never discover. 
So that when I hear it alone. 

My dreams of distraction are over 

Je dis that the wand which you wield 

Is a love you cherish unspoken ; 
Je dis that your heart as a shield 

Will guard its own honour unbroken. 
Je dis that those beautiful eyes 

Are gates which affection uncloses. 
To show me the soul as it lies 

Asleep on its cushion of roses. 
76 



IN LOVE'S GARDEN 



Je dis, "She is noble and true. 

And pure as the blush of the morning,"- 
My heart is entrusted to you 

Despite of the world and its warning. 
Je dis to that world, Elaine, 

As it threatens the stormy weather. 
If trouble e'er ruffle the main. 

We'll bound o'er the billows together. 



Epithalamium 

Since many strange antitheses 

Our lives comprise; 
Since there are no unruffled seas 

ISTor cloudless skies; 
Since, though at times bright oases 

Enchant the eyes. 
Life's pathway oft by Eate's decrees 

In deserts lies ; 

Since grief must follow pleasure's path 

As night the day ; 
Since life its bleak December hath 

As well as May; 
Since careless youth must change its ease 

For careful age ; 
Since we must pass through scenes like these 

Our pilgrimage ; — 
77 



MY THREE LOVES 



Since these tMngs are, 'twere vain that I, 

With foolish hope, 
Should cast in pure felicity 

Your horoscope ; 
But rather let my wish be this. 

And this my prajr'r : 
Since earth can give no perfect bliss, 

All free from care : 

May yours a nobler science be 

Than that of old. 
Which vainly sought the mystery 

Of making gold. 
May you in Love a charm possess 

Whose wondrous pow'r 
Shall change to very happiness 

Each mournful hour. 

May Love so true an ally prove 

In Life's great game. 
That it may check at every move 

Misfortune's aim. 
And when upon the pathless sea 

You start with fear. 
May Love a faultless compass be 

By which to steer. 

And when the storm with which you cope 

Your strength defies, 
May Love the radiant sign of hope 

Paint in the skies ! 
78 



IN LOVE'S GARDEN 



And when the changeless deserts burn 

Your weary feet. 
May Love's quick eye afar discern 

The waters sweet. 

May Love walk hand in hand with dole 

When pleasures end, 
'Till grief shall seem unto the soul 

Almost a friend. 
May Love be like a violet 

From some far clime. 
Whose sweetness wiles us to forget 

The winter-time. 

And though it may not turn to gold 

The silver hair, 
Nor smooth from furrowed brows and old 

The marks of care; 
Yet may Love use the best, in truth. 

Of all its arts. 
And keep in bright perennial youth 

Your wedded hearts. 



79 



MY THREE LOVES 



A Valentine 

I midst the mountains, and you by the sea, 

The distance is stretching between, 
And shines alike now on you and on me 

The moon with its silvery sheen. 
It wraps the hills as with mantle of snow. 

And lightens the ocean for you, — 
Our thoughts are free, flying hither and fro, 

As carrier pigeons do. 

I midst the mountains, and you by the sea ! 

The vision of form and of face 
Is blurred, Dearest, for you and for me. 

Concealed by the curtains of space. 
Our thoughts will meet, for there's nothing can bar,- 

For nothing can hinder nor stay! — 
As earth is kissed by the light of a star 

A myriad miles away. 

I midst the mountains, and you by the sea, — 

And ah for the miles to be crost ! — 
The bird we heard it has flown from the tree. 

The sound of our voices is lost; 
There's sevrance, parting of lips and of hands; 

But thoughts, — they are bound to be free, 
As streams which break thro' the hampering bands, 

In search of the azure sea. 
80 



IN LOVE'S GARDEN 



Innominata 

No, no, not here, no strain of passing song 

Shall breathe her name, nor 'midst the crowding 

throng 
That sweeps the corridors of thought along 
Shall she be found. But where the busy mind 
Is lulled to rest; borne on the midnight wind. 
Her loved name comes, — comes like the weird toll 
Of phantom bells, — until my very soul 
Chimes with mem'ries ; until my spirit feels 
Her presence, until imagination steals 
Her image from the skies. And when once more 
These visions flee, — for ah ! they soon are o'er, — 
Then, peering through the star-lit realms of air. 
Upward, upward, on the wings of silent prayer, 
I send her name to greet her spirit there. 



Close of Day 

Tho' downward tends the slope 
The twilit skies above ! 

Yet all before is hope. 
For all behind is love. 



81 



IN THE SANCTUARY 



IN THE SANCTUARY 



Bethlehem 

Is this the spot to wMcb all paths have tended. 
The bourne of pilgrims through all time,— 

The end of dreams so lofty, vast and splendid 
They fired the soul with hopes sublime? 

Is this the Christ for whom the world has fainted. 

So many weary years and long, — 
Is this the vision which the prophets painted. 

The Monarch of the Psalmist^s song? 

Thro' all the dark and slowly moving ages 

The world has panted with desire ; 
Beyond the purple distance, kings and sages 

Have scanned to see the beacon fire; 

Have dreamed of One whose hand should break 
asunder 

The fetters which mankind has bound. 
Or lift the burdens they are bending under 

And cast all rivals to the ground. 

Have dreamed of pomp, of splendour — yea, of glory 
The world has never seen nor known ! — 

A King surpassing all the kings of story, 
His seat, a solitary throne. 
85 



MY THREE LOVES 



At last the light ! It shows a village lowly 
That nestles on the hillside slope, — 

Is this the place to which the prophets holy 
Have bid us bring our faith and hope ? 

All visions fade ; and lo ! instead, a dwelling 
Where cattle seek their nightly rest, 

Behold ! — and angels bend amazed in telling,- 
A Babe asleep on Mary^s breast ! 



Consecration 

I only know His spirit calleth 

And am content, 
I go in faith that what befalleth 

Is His intent. 

I will not doubting ask with Moses, 

'Tjord, why should I ?" 
But wait until His word discloses 

His reason why. 

E'en tho' I know my mouth containeth 

No gift of speech 
Yet still, nor doubt nor fear remaineth, 

The Lord will teach. 
86 



IN THE SANCTUARY 



My tongue may lack ; but, since he sees us, 

I've confidence, — 
He makes the simple name of Jesus 

True eloquence. 

For thus it was in distant ages 

His Spirit wrought. 
The humblest were the teachers, — sages 

Among the taught. 

And thus Thou, Lord, Thy grace conferring. 

Shall be my guide. 
And I shall preach unto the erring 

Christ crucified. 

Yea, I will tell the weary spirit 

Of ended strife; 
The poor, of wealth they may inherit 

Beyond this life! 

And if, Lord, one hearer only 

Find peace and rest; 
If one sad soul before so lonely 

Smile on Thy breast; 

If when the day of work is ended, 

Great I Am, 
I lead unto Thy pastures splendid 

But one weak lamb;— ' 

87 



MY THREE LOVES 



Shall not the gates unbar before me 

And let ^me in. 
And Mercy's robe fall gently o'er me 

To hide my sin ? 

Wilt Thou not say, Judge of Heaven, 

"Thy task is o'er. 
Thou bringest with the talent given, 

One talent more." 



Missions 

As I look in the book that I treasure. 

As I read of the love that is there. 
Of mercy there's nothing can measure 

Of grace with which nought compare, — 
Tho' sweet are its sounds, yet with anguish 

My spirit within me is stirred, 
I think of the many who languish 

And hear not the comforting word. 

I dwell in the house of my Father, 

Protected and shielded from care, — 
In mercy permitted to gather 

The seed that is scatter'd there, - 
Yet think of the wand'ring and weary. 

Who find, as in deserts they roam, 
No light that may make it less dreary, 

No hand that may beckon them home. 
88 



IN THE SANCTUARY 



I kneel at the wonderful table, 

I eat of the heavenly bread ; 
I drink of the cup that is able 

To save all for whom it is shed; 
I think of the many who gladly 

Would take of the crumbs of my share. 
Who know not, tho^ hungering sadly. 

The bread is enough and to spare. 

As mercies come faster and faster. 

The gifts of a bountiful hand, — 
I recall the words of the Master, 

"Go forth into every land!" 
Go forth into highways and hedges. 

Till all of the burdened shall see 
The truth that the scripture alleges : 

Salvation and mercy are free. 



89 



MY THREE LOVES 



"Lord, Increase Our Faith" 

Lone is the hour 

And strong the tempest's pow'r ; 

Cause, Lord, my fears to cease. 
Scarce thro' the darkness and the storm 
Can I discern Thy gracious form, — 

0, Lord, my faith increase ! 

Loud roars the blast, 
My courage faileth fast; 

Come, Lord, come, speaking peace ; 
Let me perceive Thy saving hand 
Stretched forth to lead me, safe to land, — 

0, Lord, my faith increase ! 

When doubt again 

Doth bind me with its chain, 

0, Lord, grant me release ; 
In trial, woe, when death is by 
Then let me see Thee watching nigh, — 

0, Lord, my faith increase ! 



90 



IN THE SANCTUARY 



Old Saint Paul's 

Sunshine and cloud, and wintry winds and snows, 
And breezes warm with hawthorn breath and rose, 
And wealth of green and bows of elm all bare. 
Like yearning arms outstretched in ceaseless prayer. 

And nights of gloom, — and silent nights when falls 
The sheen of moon on ivied graves and walls, — 
Yet still the church, thro' all the shifting year. 
Thro' restless time, abides unchanging here. 

In days when those who sleep beneath the trees 
Still called it hoihe beyond the surging seas. 
When King and Church alike held equal sway, 
God's house was here, — and here it stands to-day. 

In days of clanging war, when shot and shell 
And fire were poured, — as though the gates of hell 
Prevailed, — yet still her battered walls uprose. 
In supplication mute against her foes. 

And dreary days when all was waste and bare. 
And birds their shelter made the House of Prayer, 
And days of joy when once again was heard 
The sacred strain, the reassuring word ; 

91 



MY THREE LOVES 



And many quiet, peaceful days and calm, 
Unbroken like the beat of chanted psalm. 
And pallid days when pestilence was rife. 
And, once again, the days of war and strife! 

And so, thro' all the change and chance of years. 
Thro' peace and war, thro' joys and hopes and fears, 
God's House has been a welcome port of rest 
To wand'ring souls and souls with care opprest. 

Confessions low and words that bring release 
The very walls have heard, and words of peace. 
And pleading words of prayer, and songs of praise 
And benedictions — through the passing days. 

And mothers here have brought their babes to Christ, 
And faithful lovers made their holy tryst 
And pledged their troth, — and weary sinners here 
Have laid their burden down and all their fear: 

And here the blessed Christ, in grace divine, 
Has cheered with Bread of Life and Sacred Wine 
The lowly souls who loved and knew Him best — 
And here the dead were brought and laid to rest ! 

In other lands the stately fanes arise 
With sculptured walls and towers that woo the skies. 
And jewelled shrines, and pure majestic dome 
And fretted aisles long drawn — ^but this is home ! 

92 



IN THE SANCTUARY 



So keep it. Lord, thro' changing years, a place 
Where souls may come and meet Thee face to face 
And bring us, Christ, at last in tender love. 
Thro' storm and cloud to cloudless skies above. 



Prayer for Old Saint Paul's 

God of our fathers, defend 

The place that we love; 
Let mercy and blessing descend 

Like dew from above: 
Eemember the faith which of old. 

For love of Thy ways. 
Here builded with silver and gold 

A house to Thy praise! 

Remember the work of the just — 

Tho' ivy entwine 
The tombs which now shelter their dust. 

Their spirits are Thine. 

Forget not the love that they bore 

The place of Thy Kame, 
Whose courage was strong to restore 

And save it from shame ! 
Forget not the faith that sufficed 

In war and distress; 
Remember, God and Christ, 

Their patience — and bless ! 
93 



MY THREE LOVES 



Remember, Ancient of Days, 

For sake of the dead. 
The worship, the prayer and the praise. 

The breakings of bread! 
Forget not their pleadings and plaints, 

Eemember the tears. 
The life and the love of Thy saints. 

The faith of the years ! 

And visit, God, as of yore, 

With mercy and grace. 
The house where we worship before 

Thy glorious Face ! 
Our prayers and petitions receive. 

Our praises accept ! 
Give faith, our God, to believe 

Thy promises kept. 

Our courage is feeble and faints. 

Our zeal waxes cold; 
God ! for the faith of Thy saints. 

Thy people of old. 
For grace to be trustful and true, 

Like those in the grave. 
To know that by many or few 

Thy mercy can save ! 

The sparrow hath found her a nest. 

Thine altars, God ! 
make, too, our shelter and rest 

The courts we have trod ! 
94 



IN THE SANCTUAKY 



As tendrils of ivy that cling 

And hang to its walls, 
Christ, be the love that we bring 

And give to St. Paul's ! 



The Living Christ 

"Now he is dead — far hence he lies 

In the lorn Syrian town — 
And on His grave with shining eyes 

The Syrian stars look down." 

"In vain men still, with hoping new, 
Eegard His death-place dumb. 

And say the stone is not yet to. 
And wait for words to come." 

'Ohermann once more." — Matthew Arnold. 

Thus said the bard, but angels said. 
When morn had chased the gloom, 

"Why seek the living with the dead. 
Or kneel by empty tomb ?" 

Thus said the bard, but human eyes 

The Christ behold to-day, 
Not where beneath the Syrian skies 

God rolled the stone away, 
95 



MY THREE LOVES 



Nor where, in Syria's wasted town, 
The Word had life and breath, 

But Christ they seek with regal crown 
Beyond the reach of death. 

Or seek Him where, on earth below, 
He triumphs through His grace, 

When joy and peace have banished woe 
Prom some transfigured face. 

Not dead, the Christ men crucified, — 

Nor shall the sceptre cease 
Which broke the haughty Eoman's pride 

And changed the dreams of Greece ! 

The shadows rest on weary lands 
Which have not known His grace, 

Nor marked His dear uplifted hands 
Nor seen His blessed face. 

But where the loftier virtues dwell. 
And love and sunshine stay. 

It needs no planted cross to tell 
The Christ had passed this way! 

Ah ! blessed proof. He walks with men 

In all His power to save — 
The orient stars look down, but then 

They light an empty grave. 



96 



IN THE SANCTUARY 



On Jaman's peak I stood one day. 

Below the cloud was seen; 
But sunlight on the summit lay — 

God's face above, serene. 

Poet, thou canst speak once more, 

Beyond the world's despair. 
The Name which Wordsworth bowed before 

And Browning breathed in prayer! 

The doubt which held awhile and bowed 

Thy soul in pain and dread 
Is gone ; it was a passing cloud 

Which made the Christ as dead. 

The veil is drawn, and thou canst turn 

And see the earthly guide, 
Eememb'ring how the heart did burn 

What time He walked beside, 

No power of poet nor of sage. 

No trenchant critic's pen. 
Can blot His name from Hist'ry's page, 

Who died and lives for men! 

For human hearts will not resign 

That hope of Easter-Morn, 
Nor loose the clasp of hand divine. 

Nor deem their creed outworn. 
97 



MY THREE LOVES 



So long as human souls have need 
Of healing, love and grace, 

So long as human hearts shall bleed, 
The/U seek the Saviour's face. 

Men strive to take away our Lord, 
To turn us from our tryst. 

But give of hope no other word 
And show no other Christ. 

The only light which breaks the gloom 
Is light from Easter's Sun; 

No other guides beyond the tomb — 
'Tis either Christ or none ! 



Easter 

As broke the dawn with promise rich of splendour. 
Surpassing all the days in all the years. 

The women came with bruised hearts and tender, 
With spices rare, with ointment, — yea, with tears. 

The flowers abloom, the birds, the morning gladness 
All told of joy, of hope, of bright'ning day, — 

And yet, they could not see nor hear for sadness. 
But questioned, "Who shall roll the stone away?" 
98 



IN THE SANCTUARY 



And then, they heard a message, — matchless won- 
der! — 

"N'ot here, but risen I" so the angel said. 
And like as when the mists are blown asunder 

The world was changed, the Christ no longer dead ! 

Oh! what a change to human hearts a- weary 
Of seeking after God, to know and love. 

For life itself is changed, no longer dreary 
If we can see the living Christ above ! 

Oh! what a change, when woe and sin appalling 
Our souls are bowed with tremor, chilled with fear. 

To hear a voice by name the sinner calling, 
To turn and see a risen Saviour near. 

"Not here, but risen I" When the ties are broken 
And human Love protests and strives in vain. 

The empty tomb of Christ is pledge and token 
The heart shall claim and have its own again. 

"]!^ot here, but risen ! 0, thou Christ ascended ! 

Eeveal Thyself to my expectant eyes 
And bring me, when the path of earth is ended. 

To see Thy glorious face beyond the skies ! 

"Not here, but risen V Now we hear the snatches 

Of music which angelic voices sing. 
And, here and there, a glimpse the spirit catches 

Of regions where the Christ alone is King! 
99 



MY THREE LOVES 



Easter Dawn 

Ah ! the night of sorrow lingers, 

And. the skies are dark above, 
For our sins have pierced and slain Him, 

They have slain the Prince of Love ! 
Yet our hearts they surely need Him, 

And we cry at break of day, 
"Who shall give us back our Saviour, — 

Who shall roll the stone away?" 

We are they who wait for morning. 

For our sins have made it night. 
And the tomb of our transgressions 

Has hid the Master from our sight. 
But our hearts they sue for pardon. 

And we cry at break of day, 
"Who shall give us back our Saviour, — 

Who shall roll the stone away?" 

When He moved and taught among us. 

Then our love was weak and cold. 
For He lavished all His treasures. 

And we paid Him dross for gold. 
But with gifts of love's atonement, 

Lo ! we come at break of day ; 
But our sins still hide Him from us 

Who shall roll the stone away. 
100 



IN THE SANCTUARY 



With the myrrh of faith's adoring, 

With the ointment rare of life. 
We would fain anoint His body. 

As for ns He bore the strife. 
We would wash the wounds of Jesus 

With our tears at break of day; 
But our sins have come between us, — 

Who shall roll the stone away? 

Ah ! the night of sorrow passes 

And the shadow dark of sin, 
Lo ! open wide His prison, 

We who loved are peering in. 
And our hearts are thrilled with gladness. 

As we kneel at break of day ; 
In the night of our despairing 

Lo ! the stone was rolled away, — 

And a voice, we surely know it, — 

Ah ! its sweetness seems the same 
As when first we heard its pleading. 

For it calls us each by name, — 
"Do not seek where sin has laid me, 

I arose at break of day. 
For your God has sent His angels, — 

They have rolled the stone away." 

Now the shade of sorrow passes 
And the mists of doubtings flee. 

We who loved may whisper boldly, 
"Jesus died and rose for me." 
101 



MY THREE LOVES 



^Tis Thy tender voice, Eabboni ! 

That we hear at break of day, 
Lo ! 'tis calling, "Peace I give you !"- 

God hath rolled the stone away. 



Easter Hours 

Matins 

The night is still unbroken, 

And the soldiers are asleep, 
The stars alone, in token 

Of their love, a vigil keep ; 
When lo ! a vision splendid, 

Like the flashing of the day, — 
The night of sorrow's ended, — 

God hath rolled the stone away. 

Lauds 

The dawn begins to waken. 

But the lilies are asleep. 
The dewdrops still unshaken 

When the women come to weep. 
And lo! by sorrow's prison, 

The angelic voices say, — 
"The Christ you seek is risen. 

And the stone is rolled away.'' 
102 



IN THE SANCTUARY 



Prime 

The sun in glory shining, 

And the flowers their fragrance shed, 
A woman's heart repining, 

As in vain she seeks her dead. 
And lo ! He stands before her. 

And He hushes all her pain, 
The spell of peace is o'er her, — 

For the Christ is come again ! 

Vespers 

The day is dying, ending. 

As the shadows gather fast. 
The twain their way are wending 

And their hearts are overcast, 
With thoughts of dark disaster 

And of lofty visions fled. 
When lo! they know the Master 

As He breaks the blessed Bread. 

Compline 

The night is lit with glory. 

With the splendour overhead, 
And love repeats the story, 

"Is the Christ alive or dead?" 
When lo ! their eyes perceive Him, 

And the doubts and terrors cease, — 
hearts of men receive Him ! 

to hear His word of peace ! 
103 



MY THREE LOVES 



The Light of Eastertide 

Not here the Christ ! but still we linger 
In strange unf aith beside his grave, 

Or ask to touch with fleshly finger 

The wounds of Him who died to save ! 



The heart is restless, ever yearning 
To see the Christ with human eyes ; 

Or hear, as Mary heard — when turning 
Her soul was thrilled with glad surprise. 

we of little faith, our craving 
Is still to see, and touch, and hear. 

As though He'd have no pow'r of saving, 
Unless our eyes beheld him near ! 

slow of heart, in all our roaming. 
If Christ we love and Christ believe, 

He walks beside, — as through the gloaming 
He went with twain that blessed eve ! 



And still, what time the cloud is rifted. 
The hearts that deemed the Saviour dead, 

Shall see the wounded hands uplifted. 
And know the Christ who breaks the bread. 
104 



IN THE SANCTUARY 



It only needs a faith that wrestles 

With doubt, and then, whate'er betide, 

A love that near His bosom nestles. 

And breathes its one request, — "Abide!" 

Then shall we feel to-day, to-morrow. 
On fevered brow His cooling breath. 

And hear His "Peace !" — in storm and sorrow. 
In fear, in travail, care and death. 

foolish heart, to think that ever 

Can fade the light of Eastertide, 
That time, or space, or death can sever 

From Christ the sonl for whom He died ! 



Love Divine 

Shepherd love, that will not stay content ; 
He leaves in fold the many safe reclining. 
To seek the one lost sheep He knows is pining ! 

love that guides Him ^long the way it went ! 

Ah ! hard the path and drear the skies above. 
And sharp the cruel crags His way impeding, 
But still He seeks, though pierced His feet and 
bleeding, 
Until He find — and satisfy — His love! 
105 



MY THREE LOVES 



Spirit love, that will not heed the cost ! 

love no human thought can weigh nor measure. 
That will not count already gathered treasure 

If one poor coin be missing still and lost ! 

Tho' human hearts despond, and hope seems vain. 
He searcheth still in strange, unlikely places, 
That which He knows the soil of sin defaces. 

Until He find and make it bright again. 

Father love, so warm, and true, and strong ! — 
The day gives place to eve, but still He gazes 
For signs of him, who, lost amidst the mazes 

Of want and sin, hath wandered far and long. 

The night comes down, but when the morning fires 
Illume the Eastern skies, with love's persistence 
He stands, and peers and scans the purple dis- 
tance, — 

Until He find him whom His heart desires. 



106 



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